Public Pornography?!? Say it ain't so!
It's been so long since I wrote up something filthy for you kids, and I've never made my tales of rampant sex public before tonight. Consider it a gift, and you people who read me who aren't my Friends better comment on it, at least anonymously. That means You. I know, it's been all rant and photos, photos and rant. And what fun is that? Not everyone is visually oriented. And so at Steven's request (kisskiss, baby. Love the boy) I bring you:
He'd had his wisdom teeth out earlier this morning. Two of them. As a result, we were given a prescription for Vicodin, which I had filled as hydrocodone instead. 20 pills and one refill, came to about $7. Did you know generic is usually a quarter of the price of name brand? Ridiculous. Anyway. I get him home and give him one, expecting him to settle quietly onto the couch and doze off. After all, that's what I did after I had mine out. But no, he was fine. In fact, he was a bit hyper, and he ran around tending his various plants while I...unsurprisingly..sat online. He came out a few hours later dressed to thrill and a photo session ensued. He let me corset him, my god he shrinks down even tinier than he is now. It's fucking beautiful to watch and it doesn't look remotely feminine on him. It looks like plate armor. Even in lipstick and a skirt and corset, he still comes across as some ethereal warrior not for the fucking-with.
Ex A
After I settled him down and undressed him, I started playing with the marks left by the corset. You can imagine what this led to. In case you can't, I'll be blunt. He let me realize yet another thing about Vicodin that I love: they relax muscles usually kept tense, and it's much easier to..the Hell with it. I fisted him. Almost. I wasn't in up to my wrist, but I was definitely over my knuckles. I would have burrowed happily as far up my forearm as I could get, but he kept screaming so I gave up and had a little mercy.
Ex B
Just the aftermath. But it was beautiful. Don't click this, really. Stopdontcomeback.
He got cleaned up and we sat around awhile longer. He spent the day working on a new flail of sorts. It looks to be several pieces of rubber railroad tie stitched together and attached to a plastic handle. That's a bad description. I don't know what it is, but it's thin and rubber and nubbly and about 10 inches by 4 inches. Maybe he can enlighten me as to what exactly it was. But the idea was he would get dressed again, and I would take pictures, and filth would ensue, and then I would take advantage of his relaxed state to beat the holy fuck out of him, as he would be in no shape to resist me when the pain became intolerable. That's not quite how it went.
Around midnight we ended up in the bedroom. I'd run out and bought some vodka ($3.25 at the bitchstation next door). He'd mixed me a milk/ice cream/chocolate syrup/vanilla flavoring/vodka drink and I'd had about half of a large glass of it on an empty stomach, so I was stumbling a bit. He'd been smoking up, drinking vodka and water, and had one of his pills, so he was looking at bit dazed. I was wearing silver vinyl pants with my leather belt and a black t-shirt. I also had my white lens in, a little eyeliner, shadow, brown lipstick. Pretty nice but lowkey. He, on the other hand, had put on what I'd left out for him, plus. I'd specified that I wanted him in a long black satin skirt and matching shirt. And that's what he was wearing. Floorlength heavy black satin, wedding satin, that rustly sort that feels like butter or water and is so very heavy and cool. It was too big and he'd secured it with large safety pins. The satin dress shirt was mostly buttoned. He'd braided his hair and tied the ends with silver cord. Eyeliner. Red glitter lipstick. Eyebrows, I don't know what it was about the makeup or the eyebrows or what it was but his face was..striking. Critical system error. He'd painted his fingernails and toenails both for the first time that I'd seen. And he smelled amazing.
Ex C.
I coaxed him onto the bed with me and tried to arrange him for pictures. He didn't have any problems being arranged, being loose enough to waver when he knelt up. Lift the skirt. He did. His legs were completely shaved smooth, and under the skirt he had on tiny black lace ruffled..pantaloons, I guess. I almost bit through my lip. He posed for me for awhile, his fingers in his mouth, looking tiny and tragic and lost and I had to put the camera down and climb onto the bed with him to investigate all this mess. His lipstick was ruined in moments and mine was too, and I couldn't keep my hands off his legs, his impossibly delicate ankles, the tease of his cock through the layers of black lace. His eyes would roll in his head and he'd reach for me with his tiny little hands and I'd want to snap. I kept teasing him, leaving lipstick kisses on his thighs, scratching him until he wailed a little and squirmed under me. Beautiful, beautiful thing. I have to have you before I lose my mind. I can't wait anymore. I'm so fucking hard. It wasn't a lie. His hand was down my pants in an instant and he found it to be true. I growled, bit him again, pulled the buttons of his shirt open, pinched his nipples, bit him again and again. I want you. I want you to ride my cock. I want you squirming and moaning and boneless and impaled on top of me. He was on me in a second, our clothes still on, grinding hard. I almost came in my pants like a teenager, clawing at the yards and yards of satin, my hands moving from skirt to shirt to his throat.
Eventually he slid off me and I sat up, tearing off clothes. He crawled to the side of the bed to catch his breath and to smoke a little while I went to the bathroom. Staggered, still. So drunk. Studied myself in the mirror and redid my faded lipstick in bright red. Colored my lips several times, wavering outside the lines increasingly badly until I gave up and smeared it from nose to chin, swiping my stained fingers across my chest when I was done. Wandered outside to the bedroom, traded places with him. Leave the door open. I'm going to watch you. I did. Lay on the bed and watched him struggle with all that satin, pulling it up and trying to keep it out of the way, laughing as he gave up and sat down. Too far gone to even smoke his cigarette. I made him put it out, he was endangering the bed with his ashes. I went to the closet and got out the feather tickler he bought, black iridescent feathers like Manson's Mechanical Animals gear, teased him with those. Smacked him with the feathers until he squirmed and grinned at me. I'd also grabbed a choke chain from the closet and looped it around his neck so I could grab it when I wanted that luscious metal noise, the fear in his eyes when the coldness closed a click too far. I liked to put the ring in my teeth, hold him with that chain and my hands on his nipples, watch him squirm toward me, then away, and then back toward. Eventually we were both situated and I redid his makeup. Drew on his lip liner and painted his lips with red, then glossed them over in red glitter. Took a few more pictures and set the camera down 30 seconds later, hellbent on ruining it all over again.
He was quiet and slowing down, staring at me muzzily, barely returning my kisses. I dragged him down on the bed, rolled him onto his back, lay on top of him. His eyes were half open and he wasn't saying much. I kissed him several times, bit him hard. No response. He whimpered slightly as I slid off of him, rolled him onto his stomach. I asked him if he was alright and he said that he was, but it was hard to make out. Worked my hand up inside those shorts to his cock. He was halfhard and I slid the shorts down to his knees. I had them almost off his ankles when he stopped me. What, sweetheart? "nnnnnmmmnoonm....ssss..trasssshhy. mmmm. on." So I left them there around his knees. I grabbed the lube, slicked myself with it, looked at him again. Eyes closed, breathing easy, mouth slack. Pulled him up, arched his back for him, spread him open with my thumbs and pressed my cock against his entrance. Baby, if you don't want me to do this, you'd better stop me. No answer. Baby. Nothing. I leaned down, nuzzled his cheek. He opened an eye, mmmmed at me. Do you want me to fuck you? More mmming. If you don't, tell me and I won't. "Mmnn....*long pause* wan you t..o....." Yes? I pushed forward, slipping him just the head, feeling how easily I could open him, how completely relaxed he was. Baby? More mmmming, louder, a little squirm. That was a yes as far as I could tell, and I hooked my hands under his hips and pulled him back, shoving forward, nice and deep. And then, the noise. He was awake then. awake and squirming and moaning and clawing at the bed. I guess the pain brought him out of it. But I didn't stop. I gave him a second to get used to it, pulled out, pushed in again. More wailing. More squirming, but he seemed to like it. I slid my hand under him, around his cock. Hard now, and he was gasping, shoving back against me, saying slurred things like "god" and "Manzin" and "please".
In every sense of the word, I had my way with him. I did things I knew he didn't much like, or like often. I love to lean back, almost completely pull out, then jerk forward, slide the entire length back inside in one long slippery rush. He prefers more grinding, more rocking, a bit more thud than slide. I did it both ways, all ways. Hard and fast, long and slow. I put his legs together to make it tighter, then shoved him wide apart so I could watch myself disappear into him. Pulled out and surveyed the blood on me, the trickle that ran down his thigh. He moaned again. I pushed his hand down between his legs to encourage him to masturbate but he didn't move, just lay there still. Do you want me? Mmming. Tell me. A whimper. Steven. Tell me. His forehead wrinkled and he opened an eye again, a little squirming. Say "Manzin, I want you to shove your cock in my ass." The eye closed, forehead wrinkled again, sniffle. "Mmm...anz...inn, I wan...ouu...t-" I rubbed against him again, impatient. Say it. "wan you to, shove yourrr cockinmyasszz..." I obliged him immediately, too fast and too hard, simply for the joy of watching his eyes open, cloud over, haze, and close again when I found a spot he liked. He was whimpering still, quietly, and I was fucking him harder. It was too good and I was starting to lose control. We were sideways on the bed and I was hunched over him, licking the back of his neck, straightening up again, slapping against him. The bedside clock was coming on and going off with every thrust, I must have been kneeling on the cord. The room lights dimmed briefly, came back. Did I mention we had every light in the room on, plus some extras? This is highly unusual for us, we like red light and little else. Colored only. But the room was ablaze and so was I, and there was no stopping this. I was pummeling him with my cock, furiously intent, and he began making broken choked noises, clawing the bed. My cock was red every time I pulled back, and he was almost in tears under me. I could feel him shaking, but I couldn't stop. Again his mouth fell open, and in between my growls I heard "Daddy...daddyyyyy....you're hurting me..please Daddy, nnnooo.." I grabbed a handful of his neck, shoved his face down in the pillow. Shut up, bitch. Shut UP and that was probably the last coherent word that came out of me. I've never fucked him that hard. That carelessly. I haven't come that hard in some time either, with him sobbing under me into the pillow, begging me to stop, snarling and tearing at him, beating at his ass with my fists, rattling the bedframe, completely lost in it.
Eventually I could stop, get a rope around myself, roll to a stop. I was shaking, breathless. He wasn't moving much. I pulled out of him one last time and oh god, the blood was everywhere. Don't move. DON'T move. I went to the bathroom, rinsed myself off, came back and wiped blood off his thighs, his back, his ass. He was breathing hard but his eyes were closed. I glanced at myself in the mirror, hair rumpled, eyes glazed over, makeup a mess. I looked frightful. Went back to the bed to survey the damage. He was laying exactly as I left him. Baby. No answer. I took the skirt off him, turned off the lights, turned down the music. Peeled the shorts off and rolled him several times, getting the shirt off his arms and leaving everything in a pile. He opened his eyes to look at me and then slumped back down, quiet. I had to get the chain off his neck which I did with some difficulty, but then he was on his stomach with one leg drawn up, not moving. I checked the clock and barely three hours had passed. I got a washcloth from the bathroom, wet it with hot water and went to him, wiping him clean. He didn't move once, even when I washed his cock. Gone. I realized I wasn't going to be able to wake him and left him like that, sleeping on his side. I made him a glass of tea and left it next to the bed in case he woke up thirsty. When I went to bed an hour later, he hadn't moved.
He'd had his wisdom teeth out earlier this morning. Two of them. As a result, we were given a prescription for Vicodin, which I had filled as hydrocodone instead. 20 pills and one refill, came to about $7. Did you know generic is usually a quarter of the price of name brand? Ridiculous. Anyway. I get him home and give him one, expecting him to settle quietly onto the couch and doze off. After all, that's what I did after I had mine out. But no, he was fine. In fact, he was a bit hyper, and he ran around tending his various plants while I...unsurprisingly..sat online. He came out a few hours later dressed to thrill and a photo session ensued. He let me corset him, my god he shrinks down even tinier than he is now. It's fucking beautiful to watch and it doesn't look remotely feminine on him. It looks like plate armor. Even in lipstick and a skirt and corset, he still comes across as some ethereal warrior not for the fucking-with.
Ex A
After I settled him down and undressed him, I started playing with the marks left by the corset. You can imagine what this led to. In case you can't, I'll be blunt. He let me realize yet another thing about Vicodin that I love: they relax muscles usually kept tense, and it's much easier to..the Hell with it. I fisted him. Almost. I wasn't in up to my wrist, but I was definitely over my knuckles. I would have burrowed happily as far up my forearm as I could get, but he kept screaming so I gave up and had a little mercy.
Ex B
Just the aftermath. But it was beautiful. Don't click this, really. Stopdontcomeback.
He got cleaned up and we sat around awhile longer. He spent the day working on a new flail of sorts. It looks to be several pieces of rubber railroad tie stitched together and attached to a plastic handle. That's a bad description. I don't know what it is, but it's thin and rubber and nubbly and about 10 inches by 4 inches. Maybe he can enlighten me as to what exactly it was. But the idea was he would get dressed again, and I would take pictures, and filth would ensue, and then I would take advantage of his relaxed state to beat the holy fuck out of him, as he would be in no shape to resist me when the pain became intolerable. That's not quite how it went.
Around midnight we ended up in the bedroom. I'd run out and bought some vodka ($3.25 at the bitchstation next door). He'd mixed me a milk/ice cream/chocolate syrup/vanilla flavoring/vodka drink and I'd had about half of a large glass of it on an empty stomach, so I was stumbling a bit. He'd been smoking up, drinking vodka and water, and had one of his pills, so he was looking at bit dazed. I was wearing silver vinyl pants with my leather belt and a black t-shirt. I also had my white lens in, a little eyeliner, shadow, brown lipstick. Pretty nice but lowkey. He, on the other hand, had put on what I'd left out for him, plus. I'd specified that I wanted him in a long black satin skirt and matching shirt. And that's what he was wearing. Floorlength heavy black satin, wedding satin, that rustly sort that feels like butter or water and is so very heavy and cool. It was too big and he'd secured it with large safety pins. The satin dress shirt was mostly buttoned. He'd braided his hair and tied the ends with silver cord. Eyeliner. Red glitter lipstick. Eyebrows, I don't know what it was about the makeup or the eyebrows or what it was but his face was..striking. Critical system error. He'd painted his fingernails and toenails both for the first time that I'd seen. And he smelled amazing.
Ex C.
I coaxed him onto the bed with me and tried to arrange him for pictures. He didn't have any problems being arranged, being loose enough to waver when he knelt up. Lift the skirt. He did. His legs were completely shaved smooth, and under the skirt he had on tiny black lace ruffled..pantaloons, I guess. I almost bit through my lip. He posed for me for awhile, his fingers in his mouth, looking tiny and tragic and lost and I had to put the camera down and climb onto the bed with him to investigate all this mess. His lipstick was ruined in moments and mine was too, and I couldn't keep my hands off his legs, his impossibly delicate ankles, the tease of his cock through the layers of black lace. His eyes would roll in his head and he'd reach for me with his tiny little hands and I'd want to snap. I kept teasing him, leaving lipstick kisses on his thighs, scratching him until he wailed a little and squirmed under me. Beautiful, beautiful thing. I have to have you before I lose my mind. I can't wait anymore. I'm so fucking hard. It wasn't a lie. His hand was down my pants in an instant and he found it to be true. I growled, bit him again, pulled the buttons of his shirt open, pinched his nipples, bit him again and again. I want you. I want you to ride my cock. I want you squirming and moaning and boneless and impaled on top of me. He was on me in a second, our clothes still on, grinding hard. I almost came in my pants like a teenager, clawing at the yards and yards of satin, my hands moving from skirt to shirt to his throat.
Eventually he slid off me and I sat up, tearing off clothes. He crawled to the side of the bed to catch his breath and to smoke a little while I went to the bathroom. Staggered, still. So drunk. Studied myself in the mirror and redid my faded lipstick in bright red. Colored my lips several times, wavering outside the lines increasingly badly until I gave up and smeared it from nose to chin, swiping my stained fingers across my chest when I was done. Wandered outside to the bedroom, traded places with him. Leave the door open. I'm going to watch you. I did. Lay on the bed and watched him struggle with all that satin, pulling it up and trying to keep it out of the way, laughing as he gave up and sat down. Too far gone to even smoke his cigarette. I made him put it out, he was endangering the bed with his ashes. I went to the closet and got out the feather tickler he bought, black iridescent feathers like Manson's Mechanical Animals gear, teased him with those. Smacked him with the feathers until he squirmed and grinned at me. I'd also grabbed a choke chain from the closet and looped it around his neck so I could grab it when I wanted that luscious metal noise, the fear in his eyes when the coldness closed a click too far. I liked to put the ring in my teeth, hold him with that chain and my hands on his nipples, watch him squirm toward me, then away, and then back toward. Eventually we were both situated and I redid his makeup. Drew on his lip liner and painted his lips with red, then glossed them over in red glitter. Took a few more pictures and set the camera down 30 seconds later, hellbent on ruining it all over again.
He was quiet and slowing down, staring at me muzzily, barely returning my kisses. I dragged him down on the bed, rolled him onto his back, lay on top of him. His eyes were half open and he wasn't saying much. I kissed him several times, bit him hard. No response. He whimpered slightly as I slid off of him, rolled him onto his stomach. I asked him if he was alright and he said that he was, but it was hard to make out. Worked my hand up inside those shorts to his cock. He was halfhard and I slid the shorts down to his knees. I had them almost off his ankles when he stopped me. What, sweetheart? "nnnnnmmmnoonm....ssss..trasssshhy. mmmm. on." So I left them there around his knees. I grabbed the lube, slicked myself with it, looked at him again. Eyes closed, breathing easy, mouth slack. Pulled him up, arched his back for him, spread him open with my thumbs and pressed my cock against his entrance. Baby, if you don't want me to do this, you'd better stop me. No answer. Baby. Nothing. I leaned down, nuzzled his cheek. He opened an eye, mmmmed at me. Do you want me to fuck you? More mmming. If you don't, tell me and I won't. "Mmnn....*long pause* wan you t..o....." Yes? I pushed forward, slipping him just the head, feeling how easily I could open him, how completely relaxed he was. Baby? More mmmming, louder, a little squirm. That was a yes as far as I could tell, and I hooked my hands under his hips and pulled him back, shoving forward, nice and deep. And then, the noise. He was awake then. awake and squirming and moaning and clawing at the bed. I guess the pain brought him out of it. But I didn't stop. I gave him a second to get used to it, pulled out, pushed in again. More wailing. More squirming, but he seemed to like it. I slid my hand under him, around his cock. Hard now, and he was gasping, shoving back against me, saying slurred things like "god" and "Manzin" and "please".
In every sense of the word, I had my way with him. I did things I knew he didn't much like, or like often. I love to lean back, almost completely pull out, then jerk forward, slide the entire length back inside in one long slippery rush. He prefers more grinding, more rocking, a bit more thud than slide. I did it both ways, all ways. Hard and fast, long and slow. I put his legs together to make it tighter, then shoved him wide apart so I could watch myself disappear into him. Pulled out and surveyed the blood on me, the trickle that ran down his thigh. He moaned again. I pushed his hand down between his legs to encourage him to masturbate but he didn't move, just lay there still. Do you want me? Mmming. Tell me. A whimper. Steven. Tell me. His forehead wrinkled and he opened an eye again, a little squirming. Say "Manzin, I want you to shove your cock in my ass." The eye closed, forehead wrinkled again, sniffle. "Mmm...anz...inn, I wan...ouu...t-" I rubbed against him again, impatient. Say it. "wan you to, shove yourrr cockinmyasszz..." I obliged him immediately, too fast and too hard, simply for the joy of watching his eyes open, cloud over, haze, and close again when I found a spot he liked. He was whimpering still, quietly, and I was fucking him harder. It was too good and I was starting to lose control. We were sideways on the bed and I was hunched over him, licking the back of his neck, straightening up again, slapping against him. The bedside clock was coming on and going off with every thrust, I must have been kneeling on the cord. The room lights dimmed briefly, came back. Did I mention we had every light in the room on, plus some extras? This is highly unusual for us, we like red light and little else. Colored only. But the room was ablaze and so was I, and there was no stopping this. I was pummeling him with my cock, furiously intent, and he began making broken choked noises, clawing the bed. My cock was red every time I pulled back, and he was almost in tears under me. I could feel him shaking, but I couldn't stop. Again his mouth fell open, and in between my growls I heard "Daddy...daddyyyyy....you're hurting me..please Daddy, nnnooo.." I grabbed a handful of his neck, shoved his face down in the pillow. Shut up, bitch. Shut UP and that was probably the last coherent word that came out of me. I've never fucked him that hard. That carelessly. I haven't come that hard in some time either, with him sobbing under me into the pillow, begging me to stop, snarling and tearing at him, beating at his ass with my fists, rattling the bedframe, completely lost in it.
Eventually I could stop, get a rope around myself, roll to a stop. I was shaking, breathless. He wasn't moving much. I pulled out of him one last time and oh god, the blood was everywhere. Don't move. DON'T move. I went to the bathroom, rinsed myself off, came back and wiped blood off his thighs, his back, his ass. He was breathing hard but his eyes were closed. I glanced at myself in the mirror, hair rumpled, eyes glazed over, makeup a mess. I looked frightful. Went back to the bed to survey the damage. He was laying exactly as I left him. Baby. No answer. I took the skirt off him, turned off the lights, turned down the music. Peeled the shorts off and rolled him several times, getting the shirt off his arms and leaving everything in a pile. He opened his eyes to look at me and then slumped back down, quiet. I had to get the chain off his neck which I did with some difficulty, but then he was on his stomach with one leg drawn up, not moving. I checked the clock and barely three hours had passed. I got a washcloth from the bathroom, wet it with hot water and went to him, wiping him clean. He didn't move once, even when I washed his cock. Gone. I realized I wasn't going to be able to wake him and left him like that, sleeping on his side. I made him a glass of tea and left it next to the bed in case he woke up thirsty. When I went to bed an hour later, he hadn't moved.